


When angels fall

by Hansons_Hot (Thatkliqkid), Thatkliqkid



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkliqkid/pseuds/Hansons_Hot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkliqkid/pseuds/Thatkliqkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn Michaels' world falls to pieces when his daughter Cheyenne goes missing</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally started in 2008/2009.

Shawn lay there, running trembling fingers over the plush toy, body stiff and motionless as time slowly ticked by in the blackness. The bed was littered in toys, the sweet scent of youth still embedded in the covers as he lay, numb to anything but the piercing grief raging in his stoic form.

He startled as the door cracked open, the sliver of yellow light from the hallway weaving shadows across his heartbroken figure.

“Chey?” he whispered breathlessly, the plea froze and withered on quivering lips as Hunter filled the doorway.

“You ok?” Hunter asked gently

Shawn stared at him, all optimism wiped from his blue eyes, the sparkle snuffed once more.

“Someone took her” he muttered flatly, “Someone came in here and took her Hunt”

“I know” whispered Hunter, his heart aching with empathy, “Rebecca called me, and she’s worried about you”

“Worried about me?” Shawn burst into mirthless sniggers, madness tingeing the fraudulent laugh, “I’m right here, I’m here when it’s far too late-“

“You couldn’t have done anything Shawn” interjected Hunter sharply, “You have to stop blaming yourself, Cheyenne went missing –“

“She didn’t go missing, some fucker took her!” roared Shawn rage seeping from every pore, his face twisted with pain and repugnance. Hunter wasn’t sure if Shawn’s hatred was directed at his daughter’s kidnapper or himself for not preventing it.

“You’ve got to stop beating yourself up, Rebecca needs you, Cameron needs you. You can’t keep moping –“

“Moping? Is that what you think this is?” hissed Shawn a dangerous edge to the breathless snarl, “Tell me Hunter, if someone took Aurora while you were taping Smackdown, would you forgive yourself? Would you be able to look Steph in the eye and help her through a time you know you helped put in turmoil? If I’d been here, she, she-“

The words trailed into a breathless sob, his voice catching in his throat as hot tears of sorrow birthed, he flinched as Hunter sought him, dragging him into an awkward hug patting him consolingly on the back.

“The police’ll found her Shawn I promise” his hushed tone crawled reassuringly into Shawn’s ear offering little solace.

The Texan ripped himself from the comforting embrace, tearing warmth and security from his unwashed torso. Cheyenne had been missing three days, three days Shawn had kept vigil here, not eating, not sleeping. He sat motionless in the blackness, still dressed in his wrestling attire from the show in Boston, awaiting his small daughter’s return.

The guilt gnawed away at his insides, his selfishness caused bile to rise in his throat. He’d been wrestling while some stranger, some sick and twisted animal shattered his family to pieces. He’d been in Boston while his daughter was snatched in the blink of an eye leaving devastation in her place.

His mind tortured him day and night, anything could be happening to his little girl. Anything.

“I’m gonna find whoever took her Hunt and when I do I swear to God I’m gonna kill the bastard” he spat, his words fuelled by despise.

Hunter stared, a chill running up his spine at Shawn’s derision. It wasn’t the fact that he’d cursed for the first time in years, it wasn’t his threat to murder; the scariest part of Shawn’s vehement statement was that he’d sworn to God. And if he’d learned anything from Shawn in the past six years, it was that swearing to God resulted in serious consequences.

*********************************************************************************

 

Rebecca sat anxiously by the phone, hand clutching the receiver tautly muttering softly beneath her breath, Hunter caught snatches as he stood in the doorway, the prayer filtering through. He cleared his throat to announce his presence jolting the young woman from her thoughts.

“You ok?” he asked, the heartbroken look on her face gave him an obvious answer and he mentally kicked himself for asking such stupid questions to both her and Shawn.

“Did he speak to you?” Rebecca’s enquiry was low and cracked; the trace of a thousand tears evident in her tone.

“He said he’s coming down soon, “lied Hunter, shifting his eyes away from the family portrait above the fireplace. Chey’s smiling face too hurtful to view.

“Shawn hasn’t spoken to me since he got back”

The announcement was almost inaudible, her words torn with grief.

“I’m sure he’s just struggling – “

“I’m struggling too” wept Rebecca, the damn of emotion breaking under the strain, “She’s not just his little girl!”

Hunter’s chest burned with dismay, his heart bleeding with compassion for his closest friends. He tried to swallow the anger he felt rise at Shawn’s actions. His best friend was so wrapped up in his own self loathing and pain; he’d neglected to consider how his wife was coping.

“I’m so sorry” he croaked, “If there’s anything I can do-“

“You’ve done more than enough Hunter” Rebecca dismissed his offer with a weak smile, “At least Shawn speaks to you”

Hunter felt guilt flood his veins, Shawn should have been confiding in Rebecca, not him.

“Maybe you should go talk to him” he suggested

“I need to man the phone” sniffed Rebecca,” someone should be here in case the police call”

“I’ll do it” Hunter volunteered.

“I think they only talk to family”

Rebecca jumped as the shriek of the phone split the air, fumbled for the receiver in a panic. Hunter watched her form deflate, saw the quick flash of hope die and crumble to despair as she sank against the sofa, eyes narrowed with torment. Almost catatonic she sat clutching the phone to her chest, tears snaking down her cheeks in a fast and furious trail of heartache leaving the voice to leak into nothingness through the cheap plastic.

Hunter crouched beside her, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

**********************************************************************************

Shawn was sheathed in shame as he curled himself beneath Cheyenne’s comforter, limbs rigid Hunter’s chastisement echoing in his ears. Since returning to San Antonio he’d barely glanced at his wife let alone spoken to her, too consumed by regret and misfortune to look her in the eye.

He was selfish, self-centred and egotistical – he’d spent three days holed up in his daughter’s room, ignorant and oblivious to his wife’s pain, disregarding his son’s confusion in favour of wallowing in his own hurt.

Blinking back tears he rose, determined to console his family. He was a father and husband; it was time he started acting like one.

His heart lurched into his throat as the shrill cry of the phone shattered the air. Shawn made his way downstairs, each step of the stairway hindering his frenetic effort to find information on Cheyenne’s whereabouts.

******************************************************************************

“What did they say?”

Hunter turned as Shawn’s frantic drawl cut through the silence. Rebecca twisted in her seat, seeking her husband.

“Oh Shawn” the whimper broke free as he breached the gulf, pulling her into his arms.

“What did they say?” he repeated; his voice low against her ear clutching her trembling form tight against his chest.

“They found a body” sobbed Rebecca.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Shawn’s blood froze; his mouth dry.

“No” he whispered hoarsely, “it’s not-“

He shook his head denying Rebecca’s statement passionately, Hunter watched them his face pale.

“The-they said s-someone has to, has to-“Rebecca’s sobs intensified, the words broken and breathless between her tears.

Shawn released her slightly, cupped her chin in his palm, brushing his thumb tenderly across her cheek smearing tears into gentle oblivion.

“What do I have to do?” he asked quietly, shouldering responsibility for the first time in days.

******************************************************************************

Shawn stood, Rebecca clasping his palm as he squeezed her hand reassuringly. The cold metallic door stretched before them, clouded in the stench of death and desolation.

He didn’t want to be here.

No parent wanted to be here.

“I, I’ll be right back” he said thickly, his voice cracking slightly with trepidation. He made his way to the door, with one hand pressed against the freezing steel he felt Rebecca tug him back.

“I love you” she whispered, placing an affectionate kiss against his bristled cheek, he enclosed a warm arm around her grasping her tightly like a drowning man clinging to a raft.

“I love you more” He replied softly, the heavy door of the morgue slid shut behind him as he entered, swiftly severing all solace with a clatter.

A shiver ran through him as he stared, the slab loomed omnipotent as he took a cautious step forward,.

“It’s alright Mr Hickenbottom, take your time”

The deep voice was weighted in pity, Shawn rounded brusquely, glanced questioningly from the doctor to the police officer, who’d gone unnoticed in wake of the task at hand.

“Do I, I mean is she?” he stammered, his voice sounded loud and thunderous in the silent chamber, a place for the dead, he shouldn’t be disturbing their never ending slumber.

“I know this is difficult sir, but if you could just look at the body on the table and see if it’s your daugh-“

“No” interjected Shawn sharply

“Sir if you could just-“

“She’s not a body” Shawn snapped firmly, “She’s a little girl, She has a name, and she has a family.”

The police officer exchanged looks with the doctor.

“My apologies, if you could try identify the little girl?”

Shawn edged nearer the table, stared transfixed into the waxen features of the young girl, golden wisps framed once vibrant flesh, eyes closed to the world. Shawn willed himself to believe she was sleeping, that the sheet was now her comforter and she was wrapped tight in the arms of the Lord, safe and secure from the evils at which she had perished. The room seemed far too bright, as if determined to disrupt her eternal sleep, he gulped deeply, trying to swallow the nausea.

He shook his head slowly, gaze never wavering from the angelic features before him.

********************************************************************************

Rebecca paced in the corridor, twisting her hands frantically as she did so, anxiously awaiting and dreading the moment her husband would return to her side.

She roused from her panic as the door to the morgue burst open, Shawn stumbled from the room clutching the wall for support.

He glanced up, his wife blurred in a prism of tears, her face twisted and distorted in a glaze of dread and despair.

“Shawn?”

His name was a breathless hiss, one syllable of heartbreak, a million unvoiced fears wavered in that cracked and creaking tone.

He shook his head

“No?” questioned Rebecca the words hitching with hope

“S’not her” whispered Shawn shivering, “It’s not Cheyenne”

There was no relief to be heard; no gratitude to the Lord on his lips, just a flat numbness threaded in his raspy croak. He stood, haunted by the vision of the little girl, not his daughter, but someone else’s nonetheless.

His stomach churned as he contemplated the fact that some devastated father was in the same position as he, driving to the morgue fervently praying that that some other child lay motionless beneath cotton sheets, that it was a different four year old daughter robbed of life and not his.

Shawn retched, wrath and anguish bubbling up from the depths of despair as the lingering image of pallid flesh and tainted youth flashed before him once more. He gagged against the sympathy, relief rotten to the core in wake of such tragedy. The flicker of happiness at someone else’s melancholy, no matter how fleeting, was enough to consolidate his self loathing.

He lurched from Rebecca’s troubled touch, doubled over as the floor came hurtling to meet him. The world was splitting apart at the seams, and all he could see was the festering face of the child, corrupted and sullied by her death, his mind’s eye twisted and tortured her, intermingled putrid corpses with flashes of Cheyenne. He opened his mouth to protest, to plead for mercy on behalf of the innocent. His head pounded with unanswered questions, with a reluctance to corroborate God’s will. No child should be taken so brutally, ripped from their family with selfish regard for the suffering left behind. Four short years didn’t even provide a chance to live.

A wealth of emotion raged within him, unable to comprehend how the God he adored could be so cruel, could punish him for unknown sin by taking his daughter, testing and taunting him with shreds of hope and failure, presenting him head on with such horrific mortality. He opened his mouth once more, determined to let the scream of mourning break free, instead he vomited, splattering the sterile floor with anguish and injustice, eyes bleeding remorse.

Rebecca draped him in consolation; her tender arms encircled his quivering form.

“It’s ok, “She soothed softly, rubbing small circles of assurance on his lower back.

Shawn swallowed fresh beads of sorrow, determined not to fall apart, for Rebecca’s sake if nothing else.

“We should go get Cam” he suggested, “He’ll need to know what’s happening”

Rebecca nodded; tightening her grip on her fallen husband as he sluggishly righted himself, ignoring the way the corridor span around him.

“We can tell your parents when we pick him up” Rebecca added consolingly.

“You should call your mom” Shawn said, “She’ll be worried”

They made their way down the corridor, heading for the exit, hoping to leave the night terror in favour of the nightmare awaiting them outside, the blackened haze in which their daughter remained living but still unfound.

Shawn faltered in the narrow aisle allowing Rebecca to surpass him, he turned his head in the direction of the stifling tomb encrypted by steel, seeing the lifeless child once more he fingered the crucifix lightly, threading the fine chain through trembling digits.

With a snap he tore it from his neck, the chain broken as it sifted between his finger tips.

“That could have been Chey” he spat allowing the now tainted symbol to slip from his hand. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter contains a sex scene.

Cameron had been seated at the window for the best part of forty five minutes, anxiously awaiting his parents’ arrival. Nana Carol had told him they were coming soon to take him home.   
A chill ran up his spine at the thought, the idea of the spacious house covering acres of loneliness and tension made him want to cry; only dad wouldn’t like it too much. Eight was far too old to cry over silly things like empty rooms.   
Chey had gone away in the darkness, he knew this much. His Mom had cried unchecked sobs of despair; howls of anguish that had frightened him more than his little sister’s disappearance.   
It was a whirlwind blur after that, unfathomable scenes of police officers, worried phone calls and his father’s frantic return before he’d been shunted to his grandparents.  
A terse grimace creased his small features as he stared into the twilight, scouring the horizon for the family 4x4. His heart skipped a beat as he saw it round the corner, crunching gravel as it slowed to a stop beside the house.   
The youngster leapt from his cautious vigil, neglecting all rules and regulations as he flung his grandparents’ front door open, wrapping his arms around his mother’s waist. Rebecca returned the tight embrace, enclosing the boy in her coat.   
Shawn stood to the side, the burning scald of jealousy unjustified but there nonetheless. His heart pulsated to the beat of longing; the thud of rejection taunted and crippled him. He watched as his wife released their son, the undercurrent loud and clear – he’d screwed up.   
“Did you tell Nana Carol where you were going?” he asked, his voice hostile, sterner than he intended.   
The bitterness of fault seeped to defensiveness as he opened his mouth, heart refusing to co-operate with mind. Feelings were not to be shared, feelings were weakness, and he’d allowed his lust for sports entertainment to overshadow his love for family. Now that cherished and neglected unit was blown to smithereens, daughter missing, and wife so distant, son so disappointed – all because of him. He’d longed to be on the pedestal, adored both spirituality and secularly, God had granted him both, only now he had vertigo and couldn’t get down, imprisoned by faux self importance.   
His family was coming apart at the seams and he was the centre of disaster.   
“Well?” he barked, shrouding self pity with austerity. Cameron glanced up; face half shadowed by his mother.   
“No”   
The whisper trembled in the dusk, any other time and Shawn would have relented, appeased that honesty had overcome deceit; that his eight year old son knew right from wrong but not now. Not when he was so overcome with self loathing, when a thirst to prove his capability as a parent had roared and blazed inside him. He couldn’t allow the rules to bend and break, their world was already splintering as it was.   
“You’re grounded”   
Cameron opened his mouth to protest but before he could voice the wrong against him, Shawn rounded, anger laced in his gruff tone.   
“Don’t even try it!”   
“Shawn” Rebecca’s voice was harsh, underscored with the unfairness of his actions, “Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?”   
“Overboard? Oh ok, why don’t we just surrender all rules, he can come and go as he pleases - no discipline, no direction -what happens then Becks?! What happens when he goes strolling out the door and never comes back? What then?! ”   
The ireful roar cut through the early evening, shattering peaceful silence to fragments of aggression.   
“That was low” murmured Rebecca, hurt scrawled on pale features, “You know I didn’t mean it like that-“   
“Stop undermining me” snapped Shawn, frustration rippling through him. He wanted to wound, he didn’t care if it was irrational, cruel or undeserved; he just wanted someone to feel as abhorrent as he did.   
“I’m not undermining you; I’m trying to make you see sense. You’re not the only person hurting here Shawn so don’t you dare take this out on me and definitely don’t take this out on Cameron”   
“It’s my fault Chey went missing”   
Fury deflated on both parents’ part as Cameron’s small voice cut through the dimness, shaking and stumbling with the obvious thread of tears.   
“Oh baby no-“Rebecca’s broken whisper provided little solace.   
“I was meant to protect everyone” whimpered Cameron mournfully. Shawn closed his eyes, remorse flooding through him.   
“It’s not your fault” Shawn relieved him of the guilty load quietly.   
“You said I was the man of the house, I was supposed to take care of Cheyenne”   
The sobs broke free, Cameron’s small frame racked with culpability and Shawn felt his resolve crumble; this was too much for a child to bear.   
“It’s not your fault” he said more firmly   
“But-“   
“Look, the only person responsible for looking after everyone is me ok? It’s my fault Cam, not yours, never yours.” Shawn interjected pulling his son into his embrace, dotting his forehead with an apologetic kiss.   
“I’ll fix it” he whispered, “I promise”   
Rebecca caught his eye, encrusted with a craving to believe, an ache to trust he would fulfil a fallible assurance.   
Shawn’s gaze flitted to the ground, breaking her intrusive gaze. It was one thing to be overwhelmed by self-abhorrence; it was another entirely to suffocate in shame.   
He broke away from the uncomfortable scene, returned to his childhood home, offering his parents gratification for watching Cameron before bidding them goodbye, promising to update them on Cheyenne as soon as he could.   
Silently he clambered back into the car, awaiting his wife and son; wordlessly they drove back through San Antonio, submerged in despondency.   
*****************************************************************************  
It was way past midnight, lying in the blackness Shawn exhaled shakily; sleep eluding him as tossed and turned.   
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d succumbed to the torturous sheets beneath him, this gorge of torment he once called a bed. The vast space stretched endlessly between him and Rebecca; both entrapped in haunting thoughts of their little girl, terrified and anguished at the scenarios their imaginations presented before them.   
Guilt and remorse from their fight tore at his soul, he longed to apologise but found the words stuck in his throat, pride and humiliation at his own actions holding the repentance captive.   
His wife’s half choked sob split the air, breaking its way through the shadows to claw and rankle at his heart strings, the splutter of sorrow caused him more distress than any nightmare he could conjure in his head.   
With a gentle tug he infringed the gap between them, pulling her slender frame against his own muscular form, wrapping her in warmth. He tilted her tear stricken face up to meet his, gazed into amber orbs of agony, tenderly pressing his lips to her own swallowing the sobs of distress.   
Soft and loving caresses deepened to something wild and urgent as Shawn desperately sought her, yearning her incessant touch, wanting to melt against heated skin, for only Rebecca could understand, only she could feel the same never ending pain as he with each passing second that their daughter remained unfound.   
With hungry kisses he devoured her heartache, knowing that as she passionately responded she was doing the same for him.   
The blanket roved above and beneath them dousing semi-naked flesh in a silvery haze; shadowed by the moonlight they consummated their heartbreak, entwining souls with the bond of desolation, seeking solace for their suffering.   
Broken breathing filled the air as they exchanged their misery, pouring grief into each other, soaking in their partner’s despair, wanting nothing more than to claim it as their own freeing the other of their troubled essence.   
unburdened by “I love you” Shawn collapsed against satiated flesh, bodies tangled amongst the sheets, shattered souls steeped in the bliss of ignorance, remaining set in a dreamlike state of normality, blanketed by their shred of succour if only for a moment.   
Sapphire eyes glinted with unease, crested with the wounds of ignominy as reality crept in. His heart beat slowed and he moved leaving cold air to kiss and nip at his wife’s exposed torso. The guilt gnawed at her too, shades of regret stained tawny almonds as Rebecca pulled the sheet around her.   
They’d made love but found no pleasure, sought solace but quenched no pain; been brought together briefly, to find solidarity torn from their eager clutches by the ideology of gluttonous sin.   
Shawn stared at his wife’s back; her modesty huddled beneath the blankets, wondering if she felt as unforgivable as he – for what kind of parents wanted personal gratification in the wake of their child’s abduction?   
It was no wonder God had forsaken them.


	4. Chapter 4

Shawn yanked up discarded jeans, buttoning the fly at the waist with tremulous fingers; he crept from the bedroom silently, no whispered explanation graced his lips. If Rebecca had any concern about where he was going she didn’t voice it.

He sat at the kitchen counter, cordless phone in his lap, glass of juice by his side. It was times like these he wished he’d maintained at least one vice; alcohol would have numbed his heartache nicely. He gagged on apple juice, the sour tang more repugnant than refreshing, coating his mouth in a film of syrupy discontent.

He glanced at himself in the glare of the stove, the mirrored surface reflecting his disgusted features, brow crinkled with confusion, eyes marred by hurt, mouth in a firm line of determination. He wasn’t going to succumb to the temptation of alcohol. No matter how disillusioned he was in thinking it could provide him comfort.

His fingers punched the ever familiar digits, the phone number scorched in his memory from years of crisis calls such as this.

Hunter answered on the fifth ring, voice laden with sleep, tone abrupt with crankiness.

“I slept with Rebecca” Shawn blurted, not even bothering to exchange greetings. He unburdened his grievance swiftly, regret etched in his tone.

“Congratulations, you’re a married man” scorned Hunter flippantly; his tone softened as endless silence stretched down the receiver, the crackle of indignation buzzing in his ear, “Seriously you slept with your wife, what’s the issue?”

“The issue” Shawn spat through gritted teeth, “Is that while my baby girl is lying God knows where, I’m upstairs screwing Rebecca. How sick is that, how disgusting, how –“

His voice tore with aggression, fragmented by fury and anguish.

“It’s not sick,” Hunter interjected firmly, “And it’s not disgusting. You had sex with your _wife_ Shawn – it’s far from a sin.”

“Do not give in to bodily passions, which are always at war against the soul.” Shawn quoted quietly, “Peter 2:11. I sinned”

Hunter exhaled sharply, the contempt evident in his breathless hiss.

“ That’s a pile of crap Shawn and you know it,” he snapped, “ Having sex with the woman you love is not waging war on the fucking soul, the fact that Chey’s gone missing is tearing you both apart, you’re stressed, scared – it’s a natural reaction! Hell I’d do the same thing, it’s not sinning – it’s survival!”

“I sinned” Shawn repeated vehemently, “I sinned for thirty seven years and now I’m reaping what I sow, God’s taken her from me, and He’s collecting His debt-“

“Bullshit!” Hunter’s curse was loud and hostile, “I’m sick of you parroting this crap! It’s not your fault that Cheyenne’s missing, you’re not the Anti-Christ, you’re not sinning; you’re just a human being trying to live your life”

“You don’t understand” Shawn replied bitterly, “You could never understand!”

Hunter massaged an aching temple, the dull thud of frustration pulsating relentlessly.

“I’m an awful person”

The broken murmur crawled into Hunter’s ear, dragging with it a sickening sense of déjà vu, his stomach churned with the hollow ache of disappointment as Shawn spouted self denigration from the past.

“If that wasn’t true in 1997 why the hell would it be true now?”

Shawn remained mute, not knowing how to voice the turmoil he could feel, he couldn’t explain to Hunter that no matter how many times the Lord washed him white, the underlying blackness of his corrupt soul seeped through, staining him putrid.

“You don’t understand” he repeated lamely, the words holding little weight. He knew Hunter wouldn’t stand for such a response, he never had.

“So explain it to me”

Aggravated by his inability to do so Shawn felt his blood bubble and boil, heart hammering with rage at his own incompetence he flung his arm out, aiming to blindly vent his anger. The half filled glass of juice toppled from the counter; waves of glass shattered on the tiles with a crash, sweet liquid seeped like crevasses of blood to stain the concrete.

“I have to go”

“Shawn-“

“I have to go!” he cried slamming the phone to the countertop abruptly ending the call. He was on his knees, shards of glass glinting in trembling hands when Rebecca’s pale form filled the doorway.

“What happened?”

“Dropped a glass” Shawn replied shortly, “Don’t worry I’m picking it up”

“I thought-“

Rebecca’s breath hitched in the back of her throat, strangled tears choked and writhed within her – caged by her desire to remain strong.

Shawn looked up, his wife’s eyes stained with hopelessness. His stomach lurched with his own selfishness, the bile of betrayal burned against his gullet as he contemplated what he’d just done. His mind’s eye sought the spray of glass that still littered their daughter’s room, cornered off with tape by police officials, he closed his eyes to the splinters winking sinisterly in the shadows on the second storey, felt the crunch as he shifted the shattered juice tumbler to the trash can.

He cast his gaze to the floor, the pool of juice spreading, preferring to project his shame to bare feet and stickiness than voice his apology and blame to the cold night air.

When he next looked up Rebecca was gone, the creak of the stairs telling him all he needed to know.

He found her in the doorway of Cheyenne’s room sagged against the varnished wood. She looked deflated, as if all life had been ripped from her, vitality crushed and stolen just like their daughter.

He watched as she gazed motionlessly into the dark and vacant room.

Shawn encircled her from behind, arms enveloping her in warmth as heat radiated from his upper body, heart pounding to the rhythm of empathy against her cool skin.

“I’m sorry” he whispered hoarsely, seeking her fingers with his own. Rebecca took them, grasping onto her lifeline with gratitude. Softly she pressed her lips against his fingertips before turning, leaning head against chest so that her words were muffled by his well-built figure.

Shawn closed his eyes as her whimper reached his ears

“Me too”

********************************************************************************

It was Cameron who startled both his parents from their fitful dozing; he burst into Cheyenne’s room unceremoniously to find Rebecca curled in Shawn’s arm, bodies moulded together in restless sleep.

“There’s a picture of Cheyenne on TV!”

Shawn cracked open blue eyes of bewilderment, felt Rebecca jolt in his arms as he moved.

He stumbled downstairs, wife close behind as he followed Cameron into the lounge. Just as he had announced, the picture filled the screen, ticker tape running across the bottom of the news programme.

He stood, frozen by the still image, captivated by the fragile beauty of one so young. He bit into his lip to quell the tears he could feel birthing in sapphire pools of distress. Regret and resentment flared in his heart as the headline remained across the photo, her reddish hair wisped around cherub cheeks, dimpled by a fiery grin. Brown eyes from her mother sparkled with optimism, all the curiosity of her four years shone in her face.

The groove he was digging into his flesh was beginning to hurt; blood spotted his tongue with the effort not to cry. Shawn raised trembling digits, smeared the droplets to nothingness, wishing he could do the same with this panic and perturb.

He reached upwards, fingers caressing his throat as he searched in vain for the crucifix, craving its comfort. With a hollow pang he remembered the morgue and his longing turned to loathing.

The war of conflict raged on, Shawn was desperate to put faith in the God who’d graced him with his beautiful family but was even more determined to wreak havoc against the unjust Creator who’d allowed his baby girl to be abducted. The wrathful Lord who’d offered him salvation and then so swiftly handed him Hell when he faltered deserved his contempt.

His all forgiving Saviour had called him, loved him and then swiftly abandoned him to drown in a sea of forgetfulness; He’d revoked his redemption with the engineering of one callous act.

Shawn could quote Scripture at will, he could repent his sin and pray for absolution but nothing could render him saved like holding his daughter would.

He stared once more into the reflection of his little girl, willing a snatch of hope to penetrate the barriers of odium that were rapidly building against his liberator, he’d heard faith was fragile but had never thought his own could come under question.

Seeking direction had never seemed so pointless. There was no direction to take. His chest tightened as he desperately tried to swallow blasphemous thoughts, his conviction to the Lord built on shaky foundations, but based on foundations nonetheless.

Cheyenne’s picture faded to blackness, contact details for the local sheriff and missing children’s department embodied against the backdrop, he turned from the screen, eyes marred by droplets of grief.

Through his haze of heartache he saw Rebecca, head bowed as she kneeled her lips breathlessly offering a plea.

The tears fell on ashen cheeks at the sight, her belief so strong and his so weak.

He yearned for unwavering belief such as Rebecca’s, to be granted the power to lay his life in God’s hands so trustingly.

He covered his face with his arm, determined to hide his fault from both wife and son, to continue his role as patriarch and protector.

Self degradation continued to belittle his soul.

If God was testing him, he was failing spectacularly. 


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark and desolate in the church; the wintery wrap of November shrouded the building colouring it cold.

The house of worship was deserted as he sat, head bowed, eyes shut, hands clasped beseechingly.

Shawn was seeking sanctuary.

If he couldn’t gain redemption the least he could claim was refuge.

Only deliverance was denied as his wounds remained open, oozing betrayal. He’d come here to try and recover his fractured faith yet was dismayed to find nothing but bitterness pulsating through his veins.

His head pounded with pain, screaming and beating with confusion. He cracked his eyes open, slits of torment watching the church spin and split like a kaleidoscope, wishful hallucinations intermingling with the imagery of the building until he was begging the Lord to surrender him to the blackness craving his mind and soul.

He couldn’t understand why he was left in this abyss, imploring futilely for mercy.

Shadows weaved their way through the hallowed structure, covering once cherished and admired remnants with the blackness of despair. Dulled and darkened by the eyes of one who’d fallen from grace, Holy ornaments became nothing more than dust laden placebos.

Shawn rose from the bench, bones creaking and tender from sitting in the same position so long, he walked down the aisle, footsteps echoing around him suffocating him in loneliness and consternation. He came to rest near the statues, dimly illuminated by flickering candles and the sparse bulb hanging high above.

Casting his gaze across porcelain faces, Shawn felt himself mouthing the word of God. Breathless mutters in a self loathing soliloquy breached by the Bible.

“ _Suffer little children come unto me....do not fear for I shall not leave you comfortless_ ” he whispered, words harsh and torn with the quiver of scepticism. If Jesus was going to comfort Cheyenne he was doing a lousy job stealing her from her loving home, ripping her from his gentle hold.

“ _I shall not leave you comfortless”_ he repeated, words slurred with despise

“BULLSHIT!”

The animalistic roar tore around him, ricocheted sacrilege in the silent sanctuary. His place of worship defiled by a profanity that was fuelled by his resentment for scripture he no longer felt rang true.

Anger flashed in darkened eyes as he sought his once favourite sculpture.

The statue stood frozen before him as he stared, heart pummelling his chest on a wave of fury. The Virgin Mary was so meek and mild, holding her infant son in her arms, clasping him to her in an undying bond of love.

Yet here he stood in the presence of a God who’d denied him that right. A vengeful and unjust Lord who’d taken his baby from him in the blink of an eye with no thought for the torment he was causing. A God, who’d also deprived Rebecca of her child, had severed the most intimate relationship of mother and child.

With a growl of sour antipathy Shawn lunged for the figurine, pummelling it furiously with his fists, avenging his heartbreak. It swayed in the tornado of turbulence, finally crashing to the tiled floor shattering to pieces with a resounding crack, the candles continued to flicker in wake of his destruction, casting a shameful glow over his ire.

He inhaled sharply, chest heaving with unadulterated angst, he stared down into the face of his vandalism; into the defilement of God’s house, the mother torn from child. He was furious that he had played Devil’s advocate. His lip trembled as he observed the baby, splintered from mother’s arms, thrown into the cold blackness; with a mournful gasp he regretted giving his heart to Satan.

He leaned over the child, with a trembling hand caressed its frozen cheek leaving a trail of scarlet blood in its wake. Stationed by horror he couldn’t tear his eyes from the ribbons of red cascading to pure white, sullying and staining his Saviour with his worthless blood.

He’d severed their sacred tie, had vilified the most intimate bond himself.

He turned on his heel and fled from the image, ran from his humiliation, not wishing to spend another second viewing what his hands had created.

He stumbled, vision blurred with disgust at his actions.

He collapsed against red velvet, face grazed against the altar as he lay - body heaving with inconsolable sobs. Crimson rivulets poured from his hands, his self mutilated stigmata bleeding repentance into the ground as he wept.

Shame and terror clenched his heart with reckless abandon, his stomach churning with guilt. He snuffled and snivelled against the step of devotion, mumbled winded apologies through his tears. Broken and dishevelled his body ached for forgiveness, choked and splintered moans of melancholy rose from his soul as he lifted his throbbing head.

Blinkered by tears the crucifix shimmered and twisted in his haze of disgrace, he latched onto the symbolic relic, his Saviour limp and tortured, haemorrhaging humility as he stood so defiled and undignified at the hands of his tormenters.

He dragged weeping eyes from the imagery, so raw and heart wrenching to his psyche and winced at the besmirched blood gracing his palms.

“" _For_ _ _God__ _so loved the world, that He gave His_ _ _only begotten Son__ _, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life_ "

Shawn recited the scripture aloud, his voice rusted with the tears he’d shed. The word of God was nothing more than a raspy croak echoing in the confines of church. He did not have to look at the plague beneath the cross to know that it was there, he could sense it.

Enlightenment was slow and steady, no second epiphany had he been granted. His first journey back to God’s arms had been swift and sudden, prompted by the love of his son. The destruction of his faith had resulted in his contempt for the Lord due to the absence of his daughter, yet here he laid, trails of cerise against the altar as he attempted to rectify his sin.

God had watched his only son suffer at the hands of Pontius Pilot, had watched his child tortured and mocked by those who could not understand, by those so blind to human anguish, those so blind to His purpose.

Shawn looked back at his festering palms, the crimson marks scabs of blame on once saved skin.

God’s only son had died so he could live.

As a father Shawn couldn’t bear to contemplate watching any child persecuted the way his redeemer had been; let alone his own, he felt the bile rise in his throat as clarification came.

God had watched as his own child was jeered, lacerated and eventually murdered. If he himself had endured such pain, why should Shawn be any different?

With a whimper Shawn understood, God had not abandoned him. He was indeed testing him, the test was cruel, harsh and unyielding but if he maintained his faith he would survive. Here at the altar, with the world so black and white, so divided clearly into salvation and sin he was sure of it.

Bowing against the plush covering he unburdened his heart of its weight, cleansed his soul of fault as he prayed for pardon. With a gentle kiss to the altar he completed his repentance, slowly allowing shreds of hope and belief to creep into the shadows of his person. 


	6. Chapter 6

Rebecca startled as the back door shut with a clatter, rounded to find her husband swaying slightly in the doorway.

“What happened?”

“Nothing” mumbled Shawn squeezing passed; he flinched as Rebecca grabbed him by the hand, emitted a low hiss of pain.

He watched as her eyes widened and watered with incomprehension at the pathway of crimson trailing her pale skin.

“What have you done?”

Shawn closed his eyes, throat tight. A short smirk flitted across his features, of all the times for her to hurl accusation; They’d weathered the most troubled of times, she’d seen him at his highest and therefore his lowest but now, when he came home dripping garnet was when she cast judgement.

“It’s a scratch” he lied smoothly.

“A scratch from where? Where have you _been_ Shawn?!”

Her voice trembled and dipped with anger, empowered by the thin crackle of fear.

“I was at church” replied Shawn quietly, “I scratched my hand”

The distant and seemingly unconcerned tone in which he delivered his answer did little to soothe Rebecca’s mounting sense of panic.

“How?” she asked angrily.

“What is this; fifty questions?” Shawn fired back, He was tired and tormented, emotionally and physically drained with his temper ever rising, “I went to church to pray, where’d you think I’d gone? Looking for pain pills?”

He set his lips in a firm line to hide the tremor at the flash of hurt scarring Rebecca’s eyes. Nibbling and scraping torn and puckered flesh he wished he could draw the words back into the depths of disquiet from which they had flown.

Instead he bit back harsh words of condemnation; a bitter bile of resentment as Rebecca’s tone rose to meet his own.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone” she seethed, “All I know is that whilst I was in here worrying about Cheyenne you were God knows where –“

“God knew exactly where I was” sniped Shawn tetchily, “I was in church praying!”

“So you’ve said”

“You think I’m not worried Becks? Is that it? You think this is any easier for me? Just because I can’t stay here all the time-“

“You’re _meant_ to be here!” screamed Rebecca, tears stinging, as her voice cracked with emotion, “We need you Shawn, why can’t you stop being so selfish?”

The word hung between them weighted in pain.

“Selfish?” hissed Shawn, “SELFISH?! I’m not the one pushing everyone away-“

“That’s exactly what you’re doing” interjected Rebecca harshly, “You’ve barely even looked at Cameron since he came home. You’re too busy playing the martyr-”

“Oh right ok, I’m being a martyr, I’m selfish and I don’t give a damn about anyone but me. Happy now? Welcome back to 1999!” Shawn overrode her, his words brusque and bitter.

“Now you’re just being stupid”

Shawn felt himself stiffen, the anger coursed through his veins. He couldn’t believe they were at each other’s throats like this, couldn’t comprehend why she was placing fault with him when all he’d done was try his damndest to remain the husband she wanted him to be rather than the one she’d originally married.

Frustration flooded him as he thought of Cheyenne, some things were more important than their petty arguments, couldn’t Rebecca see that?

“You’re the one who’s blaming me, you’re screaming at me because I didn’t account for my actions twenty four seven,” he cried, “ We’ve got bigger problems right now Becks, our daughter could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere for all we know!”

His words trailed to a muffled gasp of anguish, his head snapped backwards as the slap connected, weaving a scarlet trail across his cheek as the blow struck target.

Fingers dug into flesh he stared at his wife, cheek smarted as the red rivulets spread in protest.

“Don’t you say that” she whispered ruthlessly, “Don’t you ever say that!”

Shawn stared at her, skin smouldering as he fought to breathe; throat tight under a wave of turmoil.

Wordlessly he turned on his heel and left, the door crashing shut; cementing the chasm of hostility.

Rebecca sank against the counter, the tears of unvoiced remorse breaking free in his absence.

 

 

******************************************************************************

 

Cameron lolled against the couch, the sounds of _Dora the explorer_ filtering through his deadened haze. He was in pyjamas, hair tousled, feet bare, and eyes glued to the sharp and bright cartoon. His stare was vacant, gazing through the characters.

 

This was Chey’s show. The cartoon he whined about watching, the stupid characters that were far too babyish for his mature eight years. He’d flicked through the cable channels searching for the program, not wanting to listen to the raised voices seeping from the kitchen.

 

He wrapped his arms around himself protectively, desperately attempting to fight the cold chill he felt creep across his young skin as his father’s low rumble shattered the air, the thread of anger so loud and broken his ears ached. He clutched his arms until they hurt, wanting nothing more than to be shielded from the terse tones crackling through the house.

Dora’s bright and whimsical world melted into teary crystals as he let the sorrow birth, heart heavy and throat constricted as his mother’s voice fought to overpower his father’s. They never used to yell like this, they used to laugh together. He’d seen it. Dad used to look at him, used to speak to him. His shoulders slumped as he heard the door slam, wondered which of his parents had stormed from the kitchen.

Cameron crept to the doorway, peered round the doorframe to see his father stomp upstairs, the bathroom door crashing to a close, the distance between them stretching ever further as the walls shuddered with the force of Shawn’s ferocity.

*********************************************************************************

 

Shawn stood, breathing cracked and shallow; wisps of fury rising amongst heaving sobs as he gazed into soulless spheres. Sapphire no longer sparkled back at him in the shimmering glass.

 

The tension swamped him; recollections of the pitiful and petty argument swam in his mind – an endless berating of his stupidity and spite.

His palms still smarted, scabs fractured and oozing against calloused skin as he held his stare in the mirror. The face reflected was not his own. Age and anguish had left him unrecognisable to his once vibrant eyes. His flesh still glowed, bathed in a red hue of chastisement.

He wrapped his hands in bandages, cleansed and dressed the wounds as best he could. He wasn’t about to humble himself to Rebecca. Pride and deception would not permit him. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he hurt. He also knew that asking Rebecca to cleanse the grazes meant answering questions about their origins. He could be as self-effacing as needed in the eyes of the Lord but he could not stand to lesser himself in the eyes of his wife, not when she was so adamant he was already blemished in blame to start with.

If pride did indeed come before fall then Shawn was getting ready to leap. He wasn’t about to slip and slide into darkness shunted into the black by judgement and accusation. No not he. If he were to fall into the nothingness, to succumb to the demons of yesteryear like everyone around seemed to think, he would do it when he chose. When the world stopped spinning around him in such dismal shades of gray. He’d do it when they least expected it, when it would hurt them most. He’d go down in a blaze of delinquency.

For hadn’t her lack of faith cut him to the core? Hadn’t the questioning glance, the sly shred of suspicion so familiar it sickened him, made him yearn to scream and cry? Didn’t he want to destroy the sense of distrust he could see scrawled across her features, embedded by his eyelids and wrapped in his subconscious?

Rationality overpowered rage momentarily as he contemplated the anguish his actions would cause should he choose to stray from the straight and narrow once more.

Flickers of fury penetrated his musing; Rebecca had hurt him more than she knew.

Shawn emitted a low grunt of frustration, clenched his fists with vehemence, gaining a sick sense of satisfaction as the agony throbbed through him as he dug his nails into the bandaged wounds. The pain pulsated through his skin and sadistically he relished every twinge.

Blood seeped through the white, tainting the dressing crimson. He wished the wickedness within could bleed so swiftly from heart and mind, taking with it his fear and foolishness. He wanted nothing more than to cut the hatred and scorn from him so that he could ooze compassion in its wake.

Yet all he felt as he stood watching flecks of his own blood haemorrhage into the drain was an overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

*********************************************************************************

 

Cameron was still on the sofa when Shawn entered the living room. The boy turned his head, keeping gaze fixated on the iridescent program before him. His whole demeanour was hostile, his small body radiating enmity.

“Are you watching this?”

Silence greeted his questioning. His attempt to initiate conversation crashed and burned spectacularly.

Shawn sat on the arm of the chair, uncomfortably aware of the icy gulf between them. His son had a fiery stubborn streak, not as emblazoned as his daughter’s, but there nonetheless. The proverbial apple definitely did not fall far from the tree.

His eyes flickered from the huddled child, knees drawn to chest in a defiant pose of tenacity; he could see Cameron watching him through narrow lids of displeasure. Ego bruised, and impending maturity floundering in the wake of the grudge held against his father’s chastisement, Shawn knew the look all too well. His own father had moulded him with an iron fist, using his children as his personal platoon, suffocated by discipline and regulation Shawn had bucked the system; only now to find himself as strict and as stern under the cloak of paternity as his father had been before him.

And no matter how many times Shawn’s eyes sought the Bible and the worn and weathered scripture of “ _spare the rod, spoil the child”_ he couldn’t help but feel his heart break that little bit more every time he unjustly punished his son in the wake of his own bad temperedness. His own fear and insecurity drove him to overprotection, to punishment of the trivial. In a quest for love and safety he found himself erring dangerously close to the path of revulsion. He didn’t want his son to turn his resentment to him, he wanted Cameron to need him, to love him, respect and cherish. He wanted to be placed on the pedestal no matter how bad his vertigo got. Being a father saved him; he couldn’t let it crucify him now.

“You yelled at her”

Shawn startled from his deliberation at his son’s voice, the low tone embedded with accusation.

“Who?”

“Mom. You yelled at her for nothing” snapped Cameron bitterly

“She yelled at me” retorted Shawn angrily, the slap still fresh in his mind.

“You yelled first” muttered Cameron, “You left us; you never even said where you were going!”

The antipathy threaded through his son’s words troubled Shawn.

“I never left-“

“Well you certainly weren’t here” spat Cameron, words laced with insolence.

“Hey! Don’t talk to me like that”

Shawn’s reprimand was clipped with annoyance.

“Sorry” Cameron sulked, the lack of apology evident in his mumble.

“Look I know you’re mad about before and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. That was wrong.” Shawn apologised, tried his best to paper over the cracks splintering between them.

Cameron shrugged; Shawn saw the facade of nonchalance wither in the wake of his admission of guilt.

Silence wrapped itself around them once more as the television crackled and buzzed in the gulf of uneasiness.

“I really am sorry” Shawn repeated sinking onto the sofa, cautious of the distance between them. He hated the gorge of animosity but was reluctant to invade his son’s personal space for fear of widening the gap.

Cameron glanced at him.

“You said that already”

“Well I needed to say it again”

Shawn felt his head begin to ache in the quiet, the tension so raw it ached. He couldn’t fathom how to break the barriers that had surreptitiously erected themselves amid his little boy and him.

He jolted as the warmth of Cameron’s form seeped into him, the eight year old furrowed against him as if hoping to gain solace. Shawn draped a protective arm around him, pulling him close. He winced as his bandaged hand scraped uncomfortably against his son’s shoulder blade.

“What happened to your hands?” asked Cameron softly the concern wavered in the whisper.

“I scratched them” replied Shawn dutifully, tucking them from view. He didn’t want his son upset anymore than he already was.

He startled when Cameron burst into tears, felt an overwhelming rush of panic as the sobs broke around him.

“Hey it’s ok, I’m alright” he soothed, attributing Cameron’s distress to concern for his wellbeing.

“No” moaned Cameron, snot caked his face, eyelashes clumped with tears. He buried his face against Shawn’s shoulders, small figure convulsing with turmoil.

“What? What is it?” Shawn probed gently, trying to erase the edge of worry.

“It’s my fault”

“Cam, I told you before it’s not” said Shawn firmly, tone strengthened with resolve, “You’ve done nothing wrong”

“ I- I did” he whimpered, “ Y-you wouldn’t look at me-“

“That was me; that was my fault” stressed Shawn, his southern croak splintering slightly at his son’s words, so heartbreaking to his already despondent form, “That wasn’t you I swear. I swear to God Cameron”

Cameron looked up, eyes red rimmed and glazed with salted beads, wide with misunderstanding and disbelief that his father had swore to the Lord.

“ I did something bad”

The tormented declaration was muffled slightly by Shawn’s shoulder.

“ I told you; you didn’t do anything wrong” Shawn reiterated

“I saw” Cameron snivelled

Shawn’s brow crinkled with bewilderment, he struggled to clarify his son’s statement against his own.

“I don’t understand what you mean”

“I saw who took Chey”

Blood rushed and pounded in Shawn’s ears as he sat, the tear stricken face of his eldest child reflected in burning almonds of confliction as he sat frozen by the declaration.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The words ricocheted around him as Shawn desperately fought to claw against the tidal wave of rage threatening to overcome him. Ire pulsated within as he sat, Cameron sobbing in the gulf of silence.

“What?” he whispered finally, the syllable cracked with the weight of incredulous

“I saw”

“Saw what exactly?” snapped Shawn sharply, his words abrupt and callous.

His blood simmered with the searing heat of hostility, the fuel of fury burned within him; Cameron’s distress insignificant in the wake of such indignation. He struggled to fathom how his son could withhold such vital information; he couldn’t comprehend how one so young could be so cruel.

“The window broke” choked Cameron, words thickened by tears, “I was in my room and I heard it smash, Chey sounded scared-“

His pitiful sob weaned to silence, a ragged breath of fear ascended as he closed his eyes blanketing his father’s wrath with blackness.

“What did you see?” Shawn’s words were breathless, the hiss of dissent threaded through his tone.

“I saw a man” snivelled Cameron, “He, h-he was ta-taking Chey away...I screamed”

Shawn closed his eyes, the mental image too painful for him to consider. Guilt swamped him as he attempted to override the lump he could feel building in his throat; fractions of that fateful night swam back as he reminisced. He remembered how he’d been too panicked over his daughter to soothe his stricken son, contemplated how Cameron had begged and pleaded to stay by his side, clamouring for attention that he had not been able to give; with a bitter pang the memory of Cameron attempting to tell him something only to be brushed away surfaced. Too wrapped in his own heartbreak he had neglected his eldest in favour of mourning his youngest, shipping Cameron to his parents’ in an effort to maintain the charade of parenting during such a lack of emotional equilibrium.

It was his own fault Cameron had carried the burden of knowledge alone, neither parent had thought to ask him if he’d seen anything, had attributed any attempt at speech that night to antagonistic and panicked backchat, as reluctance to go to his grandparents.

Eyes cracked open and Shawn found himself drowning in russet pools of despair, anger drained from him in the wake of such desolation and he sought his son’s hand, tightly grasping the cold and quivering flesh in an attempt to soothe the heartache.

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

Pale faced, Cameron nodded slowly, eyes still agleam with the threat of fresh beads of sorrow.

Shawn gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Could you describe him to the sheriff?”

Courageously Cameron nodded a second time, allowing his father to wrap him in a silent vow of self assurance, resting his head against Shawn’s chest, the guilt and unease rippling through him in synch with his father’s heartbeat.

*******************************************************************************

 

 

It was twilight when Shawn next sat; the wind blew from the east, slicing through his shirt as he shivered yet still he made no effort to head home for warmth. The raging air was no colder than the well of sadness he felt himself drowning in as he sat plucking blades of grass, rolling greenery between his fingers as he waited.

A lifetime had passed since Cameron’s revelation, a whirlwind of police statements and frantic calls between departments and they were free to go. Liberated to worry and panic once more Shawn had taken his son home before leaving swiftly, not so much as a muttered farewell departed his lips in regard to his wife.

Shawn continued to stew in the weaning sunlight, fingers continuing to tear at the lawn beneath him as he vented his frustration on the innocent blades to try and distract his mind from torturously repeating the day’s events.

His hands faltered as the shadow fell across him, casting azure slits of self pity to the sky, Shawn found his haggard features reflected in whiskey orbs of concern.

“Let me guess...Rebecca called?” murmured Shawn thickly, tone creaking with lack of use. He shifted slightly as Hunter crouched beside him; flinched as the younger man’s hand brushed him consolingly, rebuking the trail of pity he was adamant came with it.

“She’s worried about you” explained Hunter, “She said you dropped Cameron off and then ran”

“I never ran” spat Shawn furiously, “I had things to do”

“Like sulk in a churchyard?” questioned Hunter scathingly

“Fuck off Hunter!”

Silence claimed them both as the curse split the air; it had been a long time since Hunter had personally been the recipient of such brutal hostility on Shawn’s part. Regrettably he found his memory’s eye immediately seeking the last time he’d been sworn at and the year long absence of their friendship thereafter.

“Sorry”

The breathless hiss of remorse shattered the stillness as he felt Shawn inch closer to him, seeking forgiveness for his harshness.

“ I shouldn’t have said you were sulking” replied Hunter quietly, “ Where did you take Cameron? Rebecca was going out of her mind when I got there; she said you just took off without telling her where you were going.”

“Maybe I was afraid of getting slapped again” Shawn snapped waspishly, riving fresh grass from the turf with renewed vengeance, paying little heed to how the scabs chafed and cracked beneath the bandages still binding his palms.

“I took him to the Police station” he continued flatly, as if the information should have been obvious.

“ Why?”

“ Cameron saw who took Cheyenne” Shawn persisted in the same monotonous voice of melancholy.

Hunter’s face remained passive, features stoic as he gazed at his fallen friend. He draped a comforting arm across his slender shoulders, a sense of relief flooded through him as Shawn allowed him to remain there.

“ At least the police have a description” he offered, attempting desperately to provide the broken man with some solace.

“ They put out an amber alert” Shawn mumbled, words threaded with the crushed remnants of a hope he no longer dared to feel. Hope had so far resulted in nothing but heartbreak, yet still he sat in the confinements of expectation, heart hitching with the trust that the system couldn’t fail him once more. Focusing cobalt to the disappearing clouds, Shawn watched as the red haze that had scorched the heavens was claimed by a smoky grey.

“Amber alert?”

Shawn shifted his gaze from the sky to his friend, the dim outline of his features prominent in their confusion.

“It’s this thing they have in Houston” he explained, “Sherriff called the Houston department, Cameron’s description got put on all media outlets throughout the entire state”

“So now the search is state-wide?”

Shawn nodded slowly, let out a low moan as the cold rippled through him, drawing from him the breathless whine of defeat. He didn’t care how cold it was here, in his heart of hearts he knew the reception would be much frostier at home, he couldn’t bear to have to fight his way through the tension once more.

“Maybe you should go home and tell Rebecca this” whispered Hunter tightening his clutch on the Texan.

Exhaling shakily Shawn tried to quench the dampness he could feel threatening to overpower him.

“All we do is fight”

“It’ll get better” Hunter promised, soothingly, “ But the longer you stay out here, the further apart you’ll get”

Shawn swallowed deeply over the lump swelling in his throat, he wanted nothing more than to resolve the pettiness between he and his wife but found himself rooted by fear.

“Will you come with me?” Shawn asked, eyes beseeching through their salted glaze.

“Sure”

He stumbled in Hunter’s grasp as the Connecticut native hauled him to his feet, steadying him as they began to make their way back.

*********************************************************************************

Rebecca filled the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room as soon as she heard the front door slam, twisting her hands in apprehension, she felt her heart lurch into her throat with relief at the sight of her husband.

“I’m sorry I never-“

“The police called” Rebecca cut across Shawn’s apology promptly

Muted Shawn stood expectantly, fists clenched with dread.

“They said someone called from Amarillo; they think they’ve found her”

For the second time in as many hours Shawn found himself rendered speechless.  


	8. Chapter 8

The plane ride was a silent one, broken only by the ferocious roar of the engine. Lost in her own thoughts Rebecca stared over the dusty landscape as Texas stretched beneath them, the clouds partially obscuring the land below. It didn’t matter. Rebecca was merely looking; not seeing.   
Mind held captive with thoughts of Cheyenne she basked in the blind hope that when the jet landed her daughter would be in the local police station awaiting their arrival.   
Shawn was on the other side of the aisle, the rows of empty chairs further widening the gulf between them. He no longer sought the horizon, jaded to the Texas sun he kept his gaze firmly on joined hands, knuckles flashing white with the intensity of his unspoken prayer.   
The plane was Vince’s, loaned to Hunter and usurped in the name of friendship. As soon as Hunter had heard Shawn attempting to get a flight to Amarillo, the Connecticut native had called in his contractual favour dismissing any protests that fell from Shawn and Rebecca’s lips. Taking charge of Cameron he’d bid them a safe journey, wishing them luck and reminding them unnecessarily to keep him updated on any progress.   
Rebecca roused from her contemplation as she felt Shawn’s shadow fall across her. Turning in her seat slightly she faltered at the sight of his abashed features.  
“ I thought I should come sit here” he mumbled softly, “ regardless of whether you wanted me to or not”   
She smiled at his stubbornness, locked her fingers around his own so that their hands were entwined.   
“ Of course I want you here” she reassured him swiftly. Lapsing into a sweeter silence she weaved a soothing palm across his skin, caressing his cheekbone as if the tender touch could erase all trace of the blow she had dealt earlier. 

“ I'm sorry I slapped you” she murmured, flesh cool against his. 

“ I deserved it” Shawn admitted, “ I guess I'm just lucky I've only been slapped once considering everything I put you through” 

Rebecca remained mute, not wishing to discourage something they both knew was probably true. It may not have been the best reaction to the argument with Shawn but it had been justified by the distress his words had awakened and stirred. 

“ When we get there if she, I mean what-”

Shawn silenced her with a kiss, his lips stealing away the frantic words that seeped confusion. His own head throbbed with the dizzy pain of the unknown, he couldn't stomach the fright to be voiced aloud by his wife as well. 

He released her, gaze soft as she averted hers back to the skyline, the apology may have eased the marital tension between them but friction still sizzled, a current of worry that would not evaporate until they knew their little girl was safe. 

 

The police station was a hive of activity as the sheriff led the couple through a barrage of officers and criminals. 

 

Shawn could feel himself drowning in noise and the precarious hope that their arrival here was not in vain. 

He searched for Rebecca, fingers clumsily brushing hers in his desperation for comfort. She wrapped her hand in his own eagerly, her damp eyes bright with gratitude, a watery smile of thanks languid on her features. 

“ Lady on fifth street called in, reported the little girl who matched your description.....” 

Shawn snapped back to the Sheriff in front of him, the man kept talking, needling into his worry and craving for faith. 

“ We've been questioning the young woman she was with-” 

“ Cameron said a man took her,” Shawn interjected, a crack of disappointment as the words broke free. Tone a thrift with the weight of sorrow as the Sheriff halted him in his footsteps. 

“ I know this is hard for you but trust me we wouldn't have brought you down here if we weren't sure it could be your daughter” 

“ You can't be sure and then say could be” growled Shawn frustratedly, “ Either it's Cheyenne or it isn't-” 

“ And we're pretty sure it is” The sheriff replied, tone clipped and brusque. 

Rebecca exhaled, a tremble apparent in her breath. Shawn pulled her nearer, a tight squeeze of reassurance, vying for his own consolation. 

“ She's with the family liaison department” The sheriff muttered, his voice low. He hadn't meant to loose his cool but the stress radiating from the tormented couple seemed contagious. 

“ Can we go there?” Rebecca enquired softly. 

 

“Of course”

The sheriff continued to lead them through the bustle, heading south on what seemed to be a never ending corridor. 

 

It was a colourful room, a shine with pastels and vibrancy, a place that attempted to soothe and placate those who visited it. 

Shawn absorbed none of those vibes. 

He had tunnel vision directed only at the small figure huddled on the chair, the child curled into the cushions as if determined to be swallowed by the fabric. 

He felt Rebecca freeze beside him as the child turned. 

Body catatonic, he was aware of nothing except the tears that birthed distorting his daughter's dull and vacant features. 

He blinked, the water cold against his burning skin, fully expecting her to disappear amongst his tears but felt nothing other than an overwhelming surge of relief as he saw Cheyenne still sitting there, lost amongst the chair. 

Rebecca reached her first and grasped her in a tight embrace, crushing her daughter to her chest in a desperate attempt to cherish the little girl. 

Shawn stood, drinking in the scene before him, struggling to swallow through his tears. Rebecca turned, her own features streaked by beads of alleviation and shot him a warm smile, a smile filled with unbridled joy that their daughter was safe in her arms. 

A smile that exuded faith and belief that they were going to be fine. 

He breached the gulf in seconds, was on his knees beside the chair, neglecting the way he his back would ache and the pain that would blaze its way amongst his kneecaps, not caring about anything other than Cheyenne. 

He pressed a tentative palm against her forehead, just to convince himself she was there and that he wasn't so awash with yearning to the point of imagining her against the plush backdrop. 

He wove quivering fingers through her hair, tears unchecked as she nestled against him, seeking daddy. 

Shawn pulled her closer, arms tight around her silent frame, soaking in the warmth of her body as she leant heavily against his chest. 

“ I missed you sugar britches” he whispered hoarsely, a gentle kiss planted against her head. A scrap of comfort, a declaration to keep her safe in his welcoming hold. 

He grappled for his wife, pulling her to him so that she was encased in the hug, the reunion a beacon of optimism on a horizon that had been bleak for so very long. 

Shawn could feel the sting of fingernails against his flesh, Cheyenne clutching him tightly he was sure his skin would break. 

He didn't want her to let go. 

He wouldn't let her go. Not again. 

Gently he released her from the hug, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the auburn streaked with dirt and grease, to take in her appearance properly. 

She was unharmed, that much was apparent amongst the filth caked on her features. 

Cheyenne was still the most beautiful sight for Shawn, just having her there, within touching distance was enough. 

Rebecca caught his gaze, the original sense of succour had soured to a sense of worry. 

Their daughter hadn't uttered a word since being in their presence.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it's been six years since I wrote anything on this story. Here's an ending chapter. I apologise if it's corny, and not as well written as the previous chapters. I wanted to complete this story, but I wasn't sure where to go with it. I've toyed with the idea of a sequel, set when Cheyenne's a teenager, but I don't know if that will come to fruition. I figured something happy had to happen, and I was always better at writing the angst. So sorry if this fails to live up to expectations.

The first night after her return Cheyenne had slept in her parents' bed, nestled between the security of Shawn and Rebecca. Exhausted from her ordeal, from her time with the officers and the sheriff. The warmth of her father's arms, strong and possessive around her, his eyes bright in the darkness as he lay awake, encircling her, keeping her safe, afraid to relent his hold in case he found her gone. He couldn't fail her again. He refused to succumb to sleep, even when grit began to burn his eyes, and fatigue assaulted his frame. He roused himself whenever he felt himself begin to doze, Cheyenne his only priority.

On the nights when she'd braved her own room, Shawn woke hourly to check she was still there. One night he stumbled over Cameron, his small figure huddled in the door way, wrapped in blankets, armed with a flash-light and the hunting crossbow he'd been gifted for his eighth birthday.

Shawn slid down the wall, until they were level, his knees splayed, touching his son's. Cameron would never allow himself to be alleviated of the burden he still carried on slender shoulders, the guilt that he hadn't done enough to protect his little sister. It was what prompted him to keep guard, sitting beside his father in the hallway, Shawn's heavy hand resting gently at the back of his head, holding him close to his chest, their tears mingling. Their shadows cast across the wall, a darkened embrace, enlightened by the thin beam from the flash-light.

The house went up for sale the morning after. The house held too much heartbreak, the walls stained with their tears, the new window pane still cracked and shattered in their mind's eye. The doors and windows locked, the new security system steely, cold and loud, until it was more of prison than a home. Cheyenne could never sleep through the night if they stayed. Night lights, and camp outs, parents and brother sprawled outside her door, protecting her from ghosts outside the window. But they couldn't protect her from the ghosts within, the ones she still didn't speak of. The ones Shawn was sure she'd never speak of in that house.

And so for the sake of both children, they moved.

The new house was bigger, a sprawling ranch in a secluded part of Texas, Shawn helped build the walls surrounding the perimeter, each brick an oath to protect his family, every wooden post hammered into the ground, a vow to God. The gate large and looming at the front, heavy duty locks drawn tight across.

History would not repeat itself.

They filled the acres surrounding the ranch with animals. Ponies, rabbits, cats, dogs. Deer grazed. It was a mini petting zoo. Rebecca baked. Shawn coloured. Painted. Created. They did everything in their power to create a childish wonderland, a safe haven for Cheyenne. They futilely tried to eradicate the weeks she experienced away from them.

The trial had provided some of the details. Katelin Rusell, the woman Cheyenne had been with in Amarillo, was in her late thirties, and suffered from her own onslaught of demons, her own missing children haunting her from the grave. The empty place where her babies should have lain in her arms too heavy an absence for her to bear, and so when her brother Caleb arrived on her doorstep, a dishevelled red haired child in tow, claiming he had found her abandoned at the roadside, and she was in desperate need of a mother, she had stamped down the nagging intuition that something was out of place. She ignored the way the little girl shied from her brother's touch, the way she cowed at his voice. The lost look in her eyes, the downturned lips and lonely spirit. She had taken her to her bosom and claimed her as her own, pretending the shiver running through the little girl was cold, and not fear at being thrust towards yet another stranger.

Katelin and Caleb were ill equipped to care for a child, that much became swiftly apparent as the court case progressed. Cheyenne hadn't been enrolled in school the weeks she was missing. Nor had she visited a doctor. She was unclean when she was taken to the Sheriff's office, her clothes ill fitting. Shawn balled his hands into fists as he listened, tried to bury the anger some place deep within him. In another era. Back with the other Shawn. The old Shawn would seek revenge. Would beat Caleb to a bloody pulp, would enjoy making the siblings suffer, would relish in their fear until they were as scared as his baby girl had been. But that was the old Shawn.

Instead he sat, stiff and unrelenting, grasping tight to Rebecca's hand, tethering himself to love. To hope. To the ability to forgive. In time. Potentially.

As they awaited the verdict, for justice, they tried to rebuild their lives. Desperately tried to piece the fragments back together, until their family was once again whole. Through prayer, through laughter, desperately hoping that the giggles wouldn't always be tinged with guilt, happiness dripping in fear, shadowed in "what-ifs" and "could-bes", drowning in the weight of Cheyenne's silence.

A string of psychiatrists and doctors had examined her, physically all was well. The diagnosis came that her mutism was as a result of post-traumatic stress disorder, stemming from her ordeal.

And so Shawn and Rebecca continued the best they could, desperately structuring their lives around their children, and their faith, waiting and craving the moment they'd hear Cheyenne's sweet voice once more.

Days merged, one into the other, stretched into weeks and then months. The seasons changed, leaves fallen, crushed beneath snow boots, then re-birthed in the spring, to a birds' chorus at dawn, until summer came, and still they craved.

Cheyenne turned five on a hot August day, grinned a sticky smile, cheeks coated in chocolate frosting, eyes alight with joyfulness, as she blew out the candles surrounded by her family.

After a day filled with excitement, party games and toys, chocolate cake and candy, Shawn carried her sleepy form up to bed, her head resting on his shoulder. Throwing back the pink and cream covers, Shawn tucked her into bed, kissed her lightly on the forehead. Her room had changed since she'd been missing, as if new things would erase what had happened. Only a treasured tatty bear remained, snuggled close to his daughter. He went to leave but Cheyenne grabbed his arm, preventing him from leaving.

"Night light?" he asked. She nodded, and he obliged. Shawn had grown accustomed to this new type of conversation.

"Sleep well, sugar bug,"

Still her small hand remained tight around his forearm. He stood, shadow cast large against the wall.

"What? What is it honey?"

He sank onto the bed, Cheyenne curled up beside him, and pressed her hands together pointedly.

Shawn granted her a small smile as he joined his own hands.

"God bless mommy, daddy, Cameron..." he began the ritual they'd engaged in since Cheyenne was old enough to talk. He found himself adding to the list, keeping up his young daughter's habit of naming everyone from Grandparents to pets, to the moon and the sandpit in her prayers, and so he continued, hoping that somehow he'd break the spell and she'd join in. So far it hadn't worked.

But he persisted. He couldn't stop trying. If he stopped trying then he failed again. So every night as he verbalised the list he thought Cheyenne would pray for, in his heart he begged the Lord. It ached within him, the desperation, the need to hear her voice. And so he pleaded, petitioned His saviour to grant his daughter the courage, the strength to speak.

"In Jesus name, we pray," said Shawn softly, staring out into the weaning light through the open blinds as darkness began to descend. The summer breeze whispered back at him outside the window, a symphony of crickets chirping in the grass, birds chattering, disturbing the solace.

"Amen"

Shawn turned sharply at the frayed word, Cheyenne's voice so small and rusted but there. The most beautiful sound in the whole world. One he'd thought he would never hear again. The answer to his silent prayer. He crossed the room in seconds and clutched her to him, her tiny face buried into his chest as he engulfed her.

"Oh Chey," he choked, words thick with tears,

"Daddy," she protested, "You're squashing me!"

Shawn guffawed, the laughter free and unrestrained, spurred by the joy of her words. Of hearing that cherished endearment, of being daddy once more. He didn't move, he couldn't let go just yet. He needed to savour her words, her voice. The blessing he'd been gifted.

"Mommy!"

Rebecca faltered outside Cameron's room, certain she was dreaming, as she had done for so long. The second time she heard her daughter call, words crackled but clearer, she ran. She ran and knelt at her bedside, grasping for her, cupping her face in her hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her own tears flowing freely.

Shawn felt Rebecca wrap her arms around him, united in their joy as they had been in their sorrow, stronger for having weathered the storm together.

The Lord had brought their daughter home.

And as he drank in the sight before him, of his wife and daughter, knowledge that his son was safe in his bed, Shawn clung to the faith that He'd heal them all.

**End.**


End file.
